


Wrecked

by atouchofprincecharming



Category: Harrison Ford - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7605895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atouchofprincecharming/pseuds/atouchofprincecharming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harrison and you are stranded on a remote island. He wasn't the pilot that had originally crashed there and you never thought you'd see another human being again. Instead, Harrison's plane malfunctions and he's forced to spend time on the island with you. No one in the world can find where he's disappeared to and no one was even looking for you in the first place.</p>
<p>You can't stand each other, but sexual urges are there because he's very much a man and you're a woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrecked

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing here. If it leads to an explicit one-shot or a few chapters... then just go with it. This is my first reader fic... feels strange writing it to be honest.

It's been months since the both of you found each other. You can't stand him and he knows it because every single time you insist that you noticed him first, he tells you that you're wrong. It doesn't matter because there aren't other people stranded on the remote island.

You've insulted everything about him and he's bitten back on so much he could have said because somewhere deep down inside he knows he'll never win an argument with a woman and even if he could, he'd feel guilty about it. So he keeps to himself, because it would make him feel like a schmuck if he were to upset you and then apologize. He rather save his apologies for someone who he actually cares about.

You've heard of him. He's supposed to be the hero in every movie he stars in, but you find him mundane and nothing to fret over. If anyone gets your motor running it's George Clooney -- and he's more accessible. He's on television and in films so there's so much more of him to go around.

Harrison is a pilot and you find that laughable because he crash landed his plane months ago. You pass by it everyday, shaking your head, wondering how on earth that could have happened.

"Shake your head one more time..." He warned as he brushes roughly past you, "Let's go. We've got some gathering to do."

You roll your eyes. You've done enough to keep yourself safe for the rest of the week regardless of what he thinks. "I'd like it if you weren't glued to my hip." She paused. "Then again, if anyone is going to be found it'll be you..."

"That all I'm good for?"

"Yeah." You shrug before taking a seat on the sandy beach.

"For someone that got left here--"

"I wasn't left here. The pilot that was flying me just happened to... die."

"You probably killed him." He spat, then jumped out of the way after you kicked a ton of sand at him. "You always this nice?"

"I hope you get attacked by pirates or maybe a king crab will crawl into your shorts and have a feast."

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but then a smirk came to his face. "Oh he'll feast."

You pause, a little unnerved, and then end up rolling your eyes again. "Go be one with nature, FlyBoy."

He stands there waiting for you to decide to come along, but you refuse so he turns around with a grunt of disgust and heads off with a few things he had flown with.

* * *

  
You love watching him. There's no other source of entertainment while being stranded... you've used up all of the batteries you've had for CD player.

He sometimes tries to make conversation with you and sometimes you allow that, but it always ends into an argument.

At the moment it's just another night under the stars -- alone with an actor you don't even care that much about. You find it so funny, in the cruel sense, that you have so much luck being unlucky. Growling under your breath, you turn your gaze to his sleeping body next to the fire. Thoughts of rolling him into the fire just to see what he'd do, especially for implying your hair needed to be combed, sounds so tempting.

You've written him off as an arrogant prick after the comment about your hair. How dare he say something so rude to you especially when he knows you've broken your comb long before he even found himself plane-wrecked on the island.

You sigh, telling yourself that you fully understand now why his wife is divorcing him. And as you continue to think on that thought, he mutters in his sleep as if he's trying to argue with you even through his dream state.

You're growing tired and sticky. You'd like to take a dip in the ocean, but it's too far away and your body has had enough of the salt-water... about three months worth.

You notice water in one of the jugs you two have gathered. You're actually pretty sure it was one that you picked up, but he keeps them all together so he can feel big about himself. You're just as cruel to him as he is to you, but you'll never admit that.

Standing, you go over to where he is sleeping and kneel over him to grab one of the jugs. Knocking into something on your way in, you turn slightly to let the light from the fire shine over his body. 

You're stunned. Your arm freezes where it is and you listen to him groan almost painfully as you pray for some sort of way to teleport back to where you were sitting -- or actually, back home where you belong.

He shifts around a little, his pelvis rising off the sand a bit.

You want to slap him, but you decide not to. It has been months since either one of you had sex... and longer for you if you actually are honest with yourself. He was the one recently married, your husband... never existed in the first place.

You feel a rush of emotions. Suddenly you're guilty and you're also shy, but there's a part of your mind that taps into the sexual arena where all you want to do at the moment if give him the contact he's looking for.

You shake it off. You tell yourself you're crazy. He's an actor -- he's stranded on a remote island while the entire world has gone looking for him. The moment you reach for his hand and slide it inside your shirt, helicopters will show up above the both of you and a photographer will fall from the sky.

By the following morning the two of you would be on the cover of every magazine in the world. You're just a small-town girl who rather get lost in the land of imagination on a regular basis than face the hurt of a romantic relationship.

"This is wrong." You say it out loud. It is a whisper, but it still meets your ears and you fall back on your ass. Sitting there, you're staring at what should be his face, but instead, you're staring right at the bulge that seems to be growing bigger by the second.

You look at his face then and try to figure out his age. Not that it matters. Even if everyone claims it's a young man's game to sleep with an erection, it doesn't help the situation since there's an older man two inches from you with one of his own.

If you don't leave, you're going to find yourself not being able to face him in the morning. That's a lie. You already know that the moment you touched it -- hit it, whatever, without knowing it... and realized what it was and what he was doing... you wouldn't be able to face him in the morning.

This has never happened before so you wish it away. You wish it away or tell yourself it isn't you. You aren't the reason for his sexual impulse. He's just reacting naturally... and that alone doesn't make you feel all that good either.

The moment is turning depressing as the minutes tick on and you honestly need to stop looking at him.

He's starting to move around more now and that's a cue that you need to leave, but you can't seem to get up fast enough before he's palming himself through his sandy shorts.

You hear him moan and it hits you straight to the gut...and a little lower.

Standing there with the pounding in your ears and you chest, you find your way to your sleeping spot and pray that he dies over night so you won't have to face him in the morning.

Once you're inside your little hut and you think you're safe. You scold yourself for saying such a thing, then grow a little miffed at the memory of him insisting you killed the pilot that flew you to the island. The urge to slap him comes around again, but sleep sounds a lot more pleasing at the moment.

* * *

Later that night, you find yourself relieving yourself. At this point you've lost all fear of being caught with your pants down because when you've got to go, you've got to go regardless if there's an actual toilet or not.

As soon as you're done using leaves in places you never imagined, you make a disgusted face within the darkness and wonder just how much more primitive you could become. Another month on the island and you might just go full tribal... using berries to smash and paint your face.

Sighing, you feel a throb in your ankle -- that's new. Standing there, you try to shake it off, but it's only hurting more. Sighing again, you wonder if you'll be able to hobble back when you hear a steam of water hitting the leaves around you.

At first you're afraid, but something like this had happened before. Waiting until the sound had stopped, You then move the leaves and pass through the bushes.

He jumps a little, then sighs when he makes out your face in the moonlight. "What the hell are you doing?!" He demands.

"I came here to use the bathroom. What are you doing?"

"Same thing." He says as casually as he can.

"I hope you've washed your hands." She motions towards them. "Guys never wash their hands."

"I always wash my hands." He insists. "Have you?"

"I already have what I need." You hold up a jug of water and some sort of wipes you had flown with. "I come prepared." You try to sound high and mighty about the situation until some island creature brushes against your leg and you send your things flying in the air as you scream.

He rolls his eyes; his ears hurt from the sudden loud noise coming from you. Shaking his head, he writes you off as a full-time talker and nothing else. "Next time why don't you try not to one-up me..." He bends down to help pick up all of your things.

You are still trying to figure out where the creature went, but then you remember some of the things you were carrying with you. You call to him stop touching your stuff when you notice that he's already holding the box of condoms you just felt like buying right before you decided to fly home.

He's stuttering without even saying anything and you find yourself wanting to teleport back home once again. Sighing, you rip the box from his hand and start busying yourself with picking up your things.

He clears his throat after a moment and stands there watching you.

After you're back up and tossing things inside the bag, you reach for the jug of water just as he does. Your hands touch and you lose control at that very moment. "GO AHEAD AND SAY SOMETHING SMART!" You urge him.

"Huh?"

You roll your eyes. "Go ahead. Make a comment about this." You reach into your bag and rip out of the box. "Go ahead -- I dare you." You narrow your eyes at him and he continues to stay quiet. "...fine -- don't say anything and I won't say anything about your hard-on either--" You freeze, while mentally kicking yourself.

You can see his face running a shade of pink even in the moonlight. Your eyes soften for a moment, before you sigh. "I'm sorry. That was wrong of me. I promise I won't tell anybody... if we're ever found. Hell, even if we aren't found I won't say anything about it again."

He doesn't know what to say and you don't blame him. He's so embarrassed, you can see it in his face.

He uses his hand to rub his face and then he shrugs sheepishly, "... I guess a guy can't control that stuff sometimes..."

"Look, don't worry about it... the same thing happens to a girl, too..." You sigh. "It's been awhile... I can imagine... maybe..."

"It's been... awhile." He agrees, then gives you that famous lop-sided grin you've seen in a few films you've seen of him. "...it's late though and we really should rest. The days are exhausting with the heat."

You agree. Something inside of you sinking even more. In that moment all of the hate you have for him has washed away and he's no longer an arrogant prick. In that moment he's a man and you're a woman, and you've got visible protection, and he's still more interested in getting back to sleep.

That erection wasn't for you and it never will be.

He can sense you're thinking and looks at you to find out if you rather do something else than sleep, but you read it as him waiting for you to follow him so the both of you can walk back together. You snap back to being against him in every way possible, and incredibly sexually frustrated. Shoving past him, you mutter about him being a prick and hope that he hears you so that he doesn't pick up on the new thoughts you're having about rolling around naked with him.

He's behind you muttering about how you're a lunatic. Again, that urge to slap him rears itself and you have to ball up your fist to keep from doing it...though that's probably more dangerous because if you do it, you're going to sock him across the face -- knocking his perfect front teeth out.

You close your eyes as your continue to walk in the darkness. You've gone this route so many times you know it by heart. You've even noticed his front teeth being perfect. They were probably fixed at one point in his life, but you've noticed and that isn't all. The next thought is the outline of his erection just straining to get out for a little while.

Finally the both of you make it back to your sleeping spots.

It's going to be a long night...

* * *

The morning sun shines on his face and he's certain he can hear a flock of island birds somewhere close by. He sits up a little quicker than he should, but stays sitting there and tries to place the sound. He better move out of the way of what could be bird droppings any minute.

He's not as prepared as you. Sure, he has a plane that's big enough to fit 12 people, but it's too hot to sleep in there when it's baking in the sun day after day after day after day...

His sleeping pile of...well, sand, is just that -- nothing overhead because he can't seem to tie the vines together to hold clothing over him like you've mastered. He of course could ask you to help him out, but he wants to be macho man sometimes so he hasn't asked.

Sighing, he stretches. Every morning it's a routine even when he's not left for dead on an island. Raising his arms over his head, he takes off his shirt and tosses it on the ground. "Damn..." He says gruffly as the sun hits his chest and back directly.

Walking over to the water he practically throws himself inside of it and prays that it's below zero. It isn't, and he knows it won't be, but he can be dream. Still, the water is soothing to his extremely hot body.

After twenty minutes, he's walking over to where he thinks he has some fruit and coconuts. He doesn't and it pisses him off almost instantly. With the vein throbbing in his neck and a loud growl in his belly, he marches over to where you're sleeping ready to blame you for eating and drinking is entire stash.

He stops abruptly as a sea shell pricks the bottom of his foot just perfectly. He curses out loud, hoping that it will wake you so he doesn't have to terrorize you until you jump from your sleep, but you don't budge at all.

Finally reaching you, he flops down on his knees, ready to dig through your stuff like a mad man. Instead, he finds himself grabbing the box of condoms again. He tosses them aside like they don't even exist and continues looking for food.

He's also looking at you... wondering how you can be sleeping on your stomach with your neck twisted in an awful position. He'd wake up paralyzed if he ever did something like that.

He's wondering if he's becoming a scatterbrain at this point. What does it matter which way you sleep and what's it to him? Especially when he's hungry and annoyed?

He gruffly throws your bag aside and goes opening the lids to your boxes. He wonders then how you had boxes from his plane in the first place. That pisses him off. You won't allow your things to be shared with his, but he has to share everything he has?

"That's just like a woman." He says out loud. "What's yours is yours and what's mine is ours..." He rolls his eyes, then thinks for a moment. He's about giving up. The only strength he has at the moment is to just nudge you with his finger and ask you if you have something for him to eat.

Falling back on his ass, he doesn't care if his wet shorts are picking up all the sand.

He's just staring at you now. Wondering how you can't sense someone staring at you while you sleep and wondering why your hips keep moving from time to time. He cocks an eyebrow after thinking that thought and pushes his head forward and angles it.

He shrugs to himself, makes a face, then does it again. He can't seem to figure out what's got you twitching and slightly breathless your mouth open.

He starts to move his hand closer, somewhat worried you might be experiencing a nightmare, but then he watches as your hips begin to grind down against something.

He swallows, something inside of him sending his mind straight into all-things-sex, and then...he notices that he can't locate one of your hands.

He feels a chill run down his spine though he's dripping water from sweat and the ocean water. He closes his eyes, telling himself he should leave, but he can't help himself after he opens them again and watches as he imagines which way you like to be touched.

He studies your face for a moment as he wonders if you like to use your fingers to scrape against your walls or if you like to rub yourself to completion.

He's growing more and more flustered as the time ticks on and soon you're turning around in your sleep, and your shirt twists up. Your breasts are bare and your nipples are hardening from your arousal.

He breath hitches in his throat; his mouth becoming slightly crooked as he breathes in short pants. All thoughts of breakfast have taken a completely different direction as he trails his eyes from your breasts, down your stomach, and then the shirt that's covering your working hand.

He has to leave. He can't see himself actually leaving, but he knows he must leave. As he stands, he tries to be as quiet as possible, but he's certain after all of your focus is on you getting yourself off you couldn't hear if a twister came through the palm trees and wiped the both of you away into the abyss.

He stands tall, twisting himself away from you and forcing himself to push his feet forward until he's nearly on the other side of the island with a throbbing in his shorts that's being rubbed every time he takes a step.

If he were younger, he'd fall to his knees and relieve himself, but there's something about his age level that makes him will himself to stop the urge of his hand from taking care of business. He mentally fights with himself and his sexual desire for a while, then notices a berry tree and some coconuts as well as a banana tree.

His self-control would have to win today. He was too hungry at this point than anything else.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There'll probably be a chapter 2... maybe 3... but that's a big maybe. This wasn't anything like I had originally planned, but there's no telling what idle hands will do.


End file.
